The Bench
by Nikol
Summary: A Weiß member reflects on his life after the group disbands


The Bench By: Nikol  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Weiß. This was just done for fun, so please don't sue me. It wouldn't be worth your time anyway...  
  
Spoilers: The end of the series to be safe.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
He had been on sitting on the bench for perhaps an hour. Maybe more, maybe less. He didn't know and frankly didn't care. When it was time to leave he would know, he always did. This bench had been the one solace he had had for the past year. It was here that he could be himself. Whatever that meant. "Self" was a foreign concept now. Every time something seemed right, something felt like this is what he should be doing with his life, it would be taken away.  
  
However when he sat on this bench, when he watched the countless people walked by, ignoring his presence, the world seemed to accept him. When he didn't exist the world was as it should be. He never fit into the world anyway. His past was too tainted to have it be other wise. If he were anyone else, if he was a regular killer for instance, he would have been in jail by now. But he wasn't "regular" and his past proved that. A past that no one could know about. A past that would scare anyone and everyone off.  
  
So it was here, where he sat, that he could be himself. Here he wasn't living a lie. Here he did not need to make up a past. Here he did not need to pretend that he had a normal childhood, or as normal as he wanted it to seem. Here he could be the person he wanted to be. Here he could be Tsukiyono Omi.  
  
"If this was three years ago you would have jumped out of your skin and asked me what I wanted. What's changed Weiß?"  
  
The voice came from his left. Shocked more at the fact someone spoke to him rather than the message, Omi's head whipped around to see someone had joined him on his bench. Chocolate brown hair was messed by the wind that had been blowing on and off all day. It did not seem to bother the gentlemen, nor did the cold. His open jack and loosely worn tie obviously gave no protection from the elements. The man was slightly slumped over and appeared to be staring at a spot on the ground. Immediately Omi knew whom this stranger was.  
  
"Nagi..."  
  
Omi perhaps had the most information on the mismatched group that made up Schwarz. Much of this information he came across while creating lives for his teammates. Once it was decided that Weiß was no longer needed, Omi had taken on the task raising the dead. While deleting and altering the files Kritiker had on them the youngest member had found a file on Schwarz. Slightly curious of what it contained he quickly read it, not retaining much. In fact he had surprised himself by recalling the name so quickly.  
  
"Weren't you the perky one?"  
  
The question was more of an affirmation than anything else. At one time it was true, though. In his past life Omi was cheery, happy, full of life. Now, he played that part when in class, or with people who considered him a friend. In reality he was just a faceless no body who had no real reason to be happy. Those times were now gone and Omi was lost.  
  
"So that's how I was known? 'The Perky One'?" Omi said almost spitefully.  
  
"We called them how we saw them, Weiß." Was the quick bitter-sounding response.  
  
"Was there something you wanted, Schwarz?" Omi put an emphasis on the other man's association. He wasn't here to be civil. He was here to be alone. He was here to be himself, whatever that meant now.  
  
"I just needed a place to sit."  
  
"Then do so quietly."  
  
Omi didn't want to put up with anything, or anyone, while he sat on his bench. This was his small corner of the world that no one was aloud to intrude on. And here was a Schwarz member, someone whom three years ago Omi had faced off with more than once. Perhaps the most solitary of Schwarz, and here he was initiating something some would call a conversation. But why not? Maybe Nagi had changed. Omi defiantly had.  
  
"You four have been quiet..."  
  
"We disbanded." Omi responded.  
  
Every time he thought about that it hurt a little more. Omi always thought that the other three took the end of Weiß better than he did. They all had lives before that they could return to: Ken was able to get a coaching job with a minor league soccer team over in Europe; Yoji had moved around for a while before settling down in Kyoto and returning to the life of a private investigator; Aya... no Ran moved south and that was the last anyone heard from him. Omi was the only one still in Tokyo, making a new life for himself for a third time. He never had anything to build off of. He didn't remember his life as Takatori Mamoru, and his previous life as Tsukiyono Omi consisted of flowers and death.  
  
It was nearly a year ago that Kritiker decided that Weiß was no longer needed. There were mix responses from everyone. But one thing everyone agreed on was it was going to feel good to get back to a normal life. Everyone but Omi. He didn't want to leave Weiß. Weiß was his life. Sure, Yoji and Ken had assured him that he was smart guy; he would adjust in no time. For the first two months Omi found himself walking back to Koneko no Sumu Ie. But it had become an abandoned storefront. Omi found a bitter irony in that; he felt the same way. Empty and abandoned. There had attempts to stay in contact but once Omi realized he was the only one trying to keep those bonds, he finally let go. Weiß had abandoned Koneko no Sumu Ie, just like Weiß had abandoned Omi.  
  
Omi finally looked back to his left to meet Nagi's piercing midnight blue eyes. They held a look of bewilderment. It was almost as if Nagi could not comprehend the idea of no more Weiß. Omi knew that feeling all to well.  
  
"I can't exactly say I'm sorry to hear that." Nagi seemed to confess.  
  
"Then don't be. I don't need anyone to be sorry for me."  
  
"I wasn't going to be sorry for you. This just made our job a whole lot easier."  
  
Omi didn't respond for a moment. Nagi had used the word "our." So Schwarz was still together. Omi almost envied them. Then again when you are in something only for yourself leaving that is a personal decision. However when you are part of a larger faction, you become a puppet for the powers that be. When they are done, the strings are cut and that's it.  
  
"Trying to destroy the world again?" Omi questioned sarcastically.  
  
Instead of answering Nagi stood and pulled the coat closer to his body. He just looked down at Omi and an ever so small smirk appeared to dance across his lips.  
  
"Why would that matter to you? You're just some civilian now. You couldn't stop us even if you wanted to."  
  
And with that Nagi just walked away. Omi watched, baffled. In the back of his mind a voice called out urgently, telling him he had to contact the others. He had to somehow tell Kritiker that Schwarz was up to something. But Nagi was right, Omi couldn't do anything. He had no power anymore. No one would believe some twenty-year-old college student who said a secret assassin organization was going to try to destroy the world.  
  
"Oi! Tsukiyono!"  
  
Another voice called out behind him Looking over his right shoulder he saw a group approaching him. Some were holding small conversations, some just looked around them. And then there was one who had a concerned look on his face. These were the people that called Omi "friend." These were the people who Omi had to relate to now. These were the people Omi put a smile on for.  
  
"You okay? Did you know that guy?" The man asked.  
  
"It's nothing to worry about Shinji. He thought I was someone he knew." Omi lied straight faced.  
  
"Oh. Well, come on. We were going to catch a movie remember? Honestly Omi, you seem to spend more and more time at this bench. If I didn't know better I'd say you lived here." The boy named Shinji joked.  
  
Omi stood and straightened out his slightly rumpled clothing without answering. Walking towards the group, hands shoved in pockets Omi just smiled. This was the life he had to live now. He had to let go of his past. He had move on, to live his life.  
  
And tomorrow he would tell himself the same thing when he rose from the bench. And the day after that. And the day after that. Just like he had told himself every day pervious to this one. 


End file.
